he is measured. he is precise. so much so that one might think to cut themselves on those movements. it’s just how he carries himself in this form. truth be told, it’s becoming a favorite.
that’s a problem. but he motions as if he wants celeste to come closer. he does.
and he sure would count serial killing.
❝I’m sure you do. Please. Sit. Any particular inspiration behind the name Celeste or.❞
At the other’s urging she kicked herself away from the door’s frame to take up a seat across from him as she finished her cookie. Her observance of him carried on with an odd little fascination. She wondered idly to herself how many of his forms he’d molded with his own two hands.
The essence of imagination herself sculpted every form she’d ever worn.
She’d painstakingly observed humanity in the most curious of ways, picking the features she loved most. Molding them into a vessel that suited whatever her mood craved.
❝— ‘Celeste Harlow’ just seemed like good name for an artist…❞
And a minute shrug was expressed.